"But your name is Henry Gracewood."
"And you may call me so, Phil Farringford, in future," said Mr. Mellowtone. "My own name sounds strange to me now. I changed it to escape impertinent questions which might possibly be put to me."
Father and daughter entered the Castle, and seated themselves before the blazing fire. I rolled the barrel of flour into the store-room, between the house and the barn. Disposing of the rest of the articles I had bought in their proper places, my work was finished for the night.
"I will go to the block house now, Mr. Gracewood," I remarked, not wishing to intrude myself upon the happy father and child in the Castle.
"No, Phil Farringford," replied he; "I shall have no secrets from you after this, for you have learned enough to make you desire to know more."
"I don't wish to intrude, sir."
"Sit down, Phil Farringford. Now Matt Rockwood is gone, I shall regard you both as my children," continued Mr. Gracewood, with more sprightliness than I had ever seen him exhibit before.
I put some more pitch wood on the fire, and seated myself opposite the father and daughter, where I could see the glowing faces of both.
"Now, Ella, tell me how you happen to be so far from St. Louis," said Mr. Gracewood.
"We were going to Portland, Oregon. Mr. Sparkley failed in business, and lost all his property," replied she.